Respect
by ladypredator
Summary: Sg. Ron Greer has a conversation with Dr. Nicholas Rush


Sergeant Ronald Greer was standing in the mess hall, a bowl of rather unappetizing goop in his hand, his eyes focused on the most complicated man he'd ever met. Complicated? Try frustrating, arrogant, fucking impossible, and a whole bunch of other adjectives Greer would need a dictionary to look up.

Damn the man - who was quietly sitting there, one hand dangling his repaired eyeglasses, the other toying with a spoon, lost in thought, and apparently quite oblivious to the hate-filled glares everyone else in the room was tossing in his direction.

Greer, himself, had had a moment of wanting to punch Dr, Nicholas Rush's lights out when he learned the scientist had faked the data on the planet that supposedly could've sent them home in a year. Hope had flared and died, and he'd wanted to hit someone – not just someone, he'd wanted to hit Rush.

He'd had sex instead, which wasn't bad at all, despite knowing that the woman in question was working her way through every man onboard. Sex was a good release, though it really hadn't been as satisfying as he'd wished.

The real source of his frustration was now biting more on the ear hook of his glasses than the glop that passed as their food.

Greer considered the possibility of hitting Rush now; he'd probably get cheered for it, but for once in his life, striking out physically didn't seem like a satisfying solution.

He remembered staring down the barrel of a handgun into Rush's face and seeing nothing but disdain radiating back at him. There hadn't been one single ounce of fear.

Anyone with half a brain should've been scared when Greer threatened to shoot them, especially when he really meant it, but not Nicholas Rush. And there was no question of Rush's brainpower.

All of which left Greer with a puzzle and a growing, if still grudging, respect for the other man. Rush might not be a soldier or a fighter – not in the physical sense – but he never gave up.

Besides, anyone who could show Telford up as a coward and power-hungry fool and do it with such style – well, Greer had to appreciate that. Even Matt and Colonel Young hadn't been willing to take on Telford. Rush had, and in a far more effective way than Greer's own failed attempt/ Punching him had felt great at the time, but the aftermath had stunk. Rush, on the other hand, had come out on top. How couldn't Greer respect that?

Without even realizing he'd done it, having been lost in thought, Greer found himself standing opposite Rush at the otherwise completely empty table.

"May I join you, Doc?" he asked.

Rush actually appeared startled to be spoken to; he glanced up sharply, brushing long strands of hair out of his eyes as he focused on Greer. The right corner of his mouth twitched upward, creasing a pair of dimples in his cheek, and he waved an expressive hand in the air to indicate the vacant remainder of the table.

"Help yourself," he replied in his characteristic lilting accent before turning his attention back to the notebook on the table in front of him.

Greer sat down immediately opposite Rush, took a few spoonfuls of his rations, then pushed them aside in disgust and reached out to grab the notebook away from the scientist.

"What are you doing," Rush protested, grabbing for it, but Greer yanked it up and flipped through the pages, then stopped, grimacing.

The pages were full of odd symbols and occasional words, or at least Greer thought they were words. He recognized scrawls in several different languages. Those were Greek, he thought, those looked Ancient, the next page looked like Hebrew, and some looked like Egyptian hieroglyphics. Was that German? The next was clearly Arabic. A few numbers were mixed in. Nothing was coherent or made the slightest bit of sense.

Rush tore it out of his hand and fixed him with a fierce glare.

"Do you mind?"

"What is all that?" Greer asked. "Looks like jibberish to me."

That statement earned him one of Rush's most disdainful expressions: the one that said clearly that you're an absolute idiot who doesn't deserve to be breathing my air. Greer ignored it and simply waited for answer.

"Memory keys," Rush finally said, closing the notebook and dropping it beside his half-finished ration bowl.

"Memory keys?" Greer echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye," Rush replied. "Keys to remind me where I was so I don't have to review the problem from the beginning when I go back to it."

That didn't make much more sense to Greer. He simply frowned. Rush sighed and shook his head, which caused his hair to fall down to frame his eyes and his cheeks in silvered-tinged dark wings.

"I've got an eidetic memory," he said, as though that was an explanation. When Greer looked blank, he tried again.

"Photographic memory, Sergeant, total recall. I never forget anything, ever, but I have to," he paused, the intensity of his gaze softening, turning inward, "I have to store it all, file it, so to speak, organize it so that I can concentrate. I'd be overwhelmed with trivia otherwise."

"You remember *everything*?" Greer asked.

Rush gave him another of those crooked half-smile.

"I could recite the full text of every book I've ever read, every lecture I've ever attended, or any conversation I've ever had in my life. I just need to sort out the memory key."

"Like a bookmark," Greer responded, suddenly making the connection.

That earned him one of Rush's rare chuckles. "Yes, Sergeant, like a bookmark."

"They're all in different languages," Greer said, gesturing at the notebook.

Rush nodded. "A different language for each problem; makes it easier."

"For you, maybe," Greer pointed out. "No one else could make heads or tails of that."

"No one else is supposed to," Rush replied, arching a mobile eyebrow.

It was Greer's turn for a brief laugh.

"You know you pissed a lot of people off yesterday, Doc."

Rush shrugged, mouth tightening.

"Why?" Greer asked, splaying his arms out on the table so he could lean in closer.

Rush shrugged again. Greer stared at him. He could wait. The problem was that Rush was just as stubborn as he was, so they ended up in a staring contest that went on for several minutes.

Finally, Rush sighed and glanced upward in obvious exasperation.

"Two reasons. One – it calmed everyone down and made them think less about how miserable they and more about getting their work done. Two," Rush jabbed his hand towards Greer, "it put pressure on the Colonel to allow the use of the neuroimplant chair. Good enough reasons for you, Sergeant?" he demanded, with an air of complete unconcern whether it really was good enough.

Greer thought for a moment about how everyone had been when they'd thought it might only be a year until they could make it home and had to nod his head. That had certainly boosted morale in a major way. It was a damned sneaky, underhanded way to do it, but it made a certain kind of sense. It was the second motivation that he had to question.

Remaining tilted in close to Rush across the table, he asked, "Are you really certain that chair-thing is so important?"

Rush simply lifted an eyebrow at him.

Greer shook his head and leaned back, shaking his head and giving a rueful grin.

"You are one clever, manipulative son-of-a-bitch," he mused.

"I've been called worse," was Rush's calm reply.

Greer laughed openly, bringing attention to them from the other people in the room. Multiple stares hit them. Neither Greer nor Rush bothered to notice.

Instead, Rush tilted his head and gave Greer a considering look. "Are you a betting man, Sergeant?" he asked, his Scottish burr deepening on the words.

"Depends on the bet," Greer hedged, though unable to hide his interest. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'd bet that within a month, probably sooner, your Colonel is going to have a full-scale mutiny on his hands. These people are going to create a riot. That is if we don't all get blown up before then because I'm being kept from accessing the best chance we have to take control of Destiny's major systems. Take your pick," Rush replied, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Greer opened his mouth to respond, shut it, his mind racing in turmoil. If what Rush said was true - the scientist had been far too right, far too often and he was a fucking genius – then Jesus Christ, they were in deep shit. But all he could do was shake his head.

"Nah, I'm afraid that's a sucker's bet," he replied, trying to keep his voice calm and too well aware he was failing.

"Well, well, you're smarter than you look after all," Rush told him.

Their eyes met and held again, this time in rueful agreement. However, it was Greer who broke the contact. He started to stand up, then sat back down and leaned over to whisper in Rush's ear.

"You cover my back, Doc, and I've got yours."

With that, he leapt gracefully to his feet and sauntered out of the room, feeling Rush's eyes follow him all the way.

Let the good Doctor mull that one over for a while. Because when it came down to pure survival, if Ron Greer had to pick one person on this rust-bucket to be on his side, it was unquestionably Nicholas Rush.

He might not like the man, but he sure as hell respected him.


End file.
